


A Story for Every Scar

by JBMcDragon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBMcDragon/pseuds/JBMcDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to the first-line challenge on <a href="http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/"><b>comment_fic</b></a>. The line was, "There's a story for every scar. The only ones he tells are lies." b <a href="http://tigriswolf.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://tigriswolf.livejournal.com/"></a><b>tigriswolf</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story for Every Scar

**Title:** A Story for Every Scar  
(Or listen to the [Podfic](http://www.jbmcdonald.com/a%20story%20for%20every%20scar.mp3)! Click the link, then right click and "save as" to download!)  
 **Author:** JBMcDragon  
 **Characters/Pairing** Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Word Count:** 1200  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor am I making money off of, anything Avengers, Avengers related, or fic.  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Status:** Complete.

 **Summary:** Written in response to the first-line challenge on [](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**comment_fic**](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/). The line was, "There's a story for every scar. The only ones he tells are lies." b [](http://tigriswolf.livejournal.com/profile)[**tigriswolf**](http://tigriswolf.livejournal.com/)

 

  
A Story for Every Scar

There's a story for every scar, but the only ones he tells are lies.

"Really?" The nurse twinkles at him while he pulls his shirt back on, the MRI machine looming behind him. "Are you lying to me?"

Clint shakes his head, keeping eye contact. Eye contact is key to seduction and selling a story, both. If he sells it well enough, she won't even look at his medical chart. If he seduces well enough, she'll take off that lab coat and head out with him. "Not at all. It was a rogue stapler. Office work is far more dangerous, in my opinion, than field work." He leans close, and he can feel the attraction tighten around her and tug as if it were a physical thing. "The guys didn't let me live it down for a _week_."

_A week into their mission, and five men were dead. Clint tried to breathe quietly, listening to footsteps on the catwalk above him, and didn't cry out as he pulled shrapnel out of his shooting hand. No bow, then. He'd have to resort to a knife._

**

There's a story for every scar, but the only ones he tells are lies.

"Wow," the nurse says, though she's no longer a nurse; now she's just his date, a pretty brunette with freckles across her nose. "That one's pretty intense. No nerve damage?" She looks at him through her lashes, drawing her finger along the twisted skin that rides his shoulder, down over the cap of muscle, across his bicep.

"Nah," he says, and pulls her a little closer, leaning in to steal a kiss. Once upon a time, he used to dread disrobing in front of new people. Years of working for SHIELD -- and being in and out of the hospital -- have removed most of his modesty, and given him a dozen stories for every scar.

"What happened?" She gets off on his stories. He varies them: sometimes they make her laugh and sometimes they make her eyes widen in suspense. He's careful not to let her drop into pity. It's not the type of sex he wants.

"Explosion. We weren't able to stop it in time, and we didn't entirely clear the building. There was one person left inside. I went after them, got them out. The burn wasn't so bad."

_It was bad. Clint spat blood from where he'd bitten through his tongue and knew he was going into shock. He couldn't feel the ropes that bound him to the chair. All he could feel was his skin blistering, no less painful even if they'd removed the fire._

_"Now, let's try again. Who were you after?"_

**

There's a story for every scar, but the only ones he tells are lies.

She's still in bed when he dresses. Nat once told him he needed to stop leaving his conquests alone in his apartment, that someday he'd be robbed, but it hasn't happened yet. He doubts it'll happen today.

She smiles at him sleepily while he sits on the edge of the mattress, digging socks out of his drawer. A finger trails down his spine, pausing at a puckered bullet hole. "What's this?"

Her words are dreamy. She's expecting another story. He smiles at her over his shoulder, standing to slide on sweatpants. "Fell off a building. Landed on rebar. Took the rescue crews an hour to get me free."

"Ouch." She burrows farther into the pillow, eyes closing. "You have the worst luck."

He chuckles and pulls a T-shirt on, a sweatshirt over that, then grabs his running shoes. He has a work-out schedule to keep, whether or not he wants to.

_"You don't want to do this, Tank. Think about it. We've been friends for how long?" Clint kept his voice level, trying to stay calm. His hands remained by his head, visible and non-threatening. Tank wasn't stupid enough to let him use them; the gun was in the small of his back, where the bullet was most likely to sever his spine, an arm around his throat. Hot breath coated his ear._

_He couldn't quite believe Tank had turned on them._

_Wheeler stood fifteen feet in front of him, gun trained for any opening Tank might give. Tank was too good for that, though, and remained almost entirely ducked behind Clint._

_"Shut up, Barton," Tank growled._

_"You're going to have to shoot me," Clint said, looking straight at Wheeler. "Nothing else is getting you out of here."_

_Even though he'd said it, he still didn't expect it when Wheeler's bullet tore through his side, dropping him like a sack of rocks despite Tank's grip on him. Two more shots echoed through the building, and Tank fell, silent._

_"Jesus Christ," Clint hissed, bile rising up the back of his throat, trying not to writhe on the concrete._

_"Men down," Wheeler barked into the radios. "We need an evac team, stat."_

_Wheeler leaned over him, pressing hard on the wound. Clint bellowed._

_"I know," Wheeler growled. "Sorry."_

_"Liar," Clint gasped._

_"Yeah," Wheeler said, his attention on the door, his hands never relieving the pressure on Clint's side. "But I kept you alive."_

**

"So, how was the nurse?"

Clint grins at Nat, bundled in her own running clothes, waiting for him in Central Park. "Excellent."

Nat snorts. "And the MRI went well?"

He shrugs, bouncing on his toes, trying to get his blood flowing. "No signs of whatever Loki did. I'm sure they'll come up with more tests to run before they reinstate me."

"I keep trying to tell them," Nat says, "they don't need to worry about your brain. It's not like you use it, anyway."

"Ha ha." But he grins. "Race you to the first marker?"

She takes off without waiting for him.

In a flat run, Nat's faster. Clint's stamina is better, but not by much. She makes it to the first marker and flies past, leaving him trailing her by an entire stride.

He pulls even by the second marker. She slacks off there, and he drops to match her pace. Their breath gusts out, white in the chill. They go three more miles before Clint drops the pace again, shifting into a ground-eating jog that either of them can keep up for miles.

"So," Nat says after a while, timing words to breath. "How are you doing?"

Clint gives her a critical look. "Better than you," he says with a smirk. "And on less sleep."

She shoves him off the path. He stumbles, then catches up, laughing.

"With what happened. With Loki," she clarifies.

Clint tips his head, the closest to a shrug he can easily manage while running. "It happened. It's fine. Not like I'm going to break down in a panic, Nat."

_He woke screaming, bathed in sweat, and made it to the bathroom just before he started puking. When he was done, he knelt on the cold floor and pressed his head against the edge of the bathtub, trying to ground himself. He was fine._

There's a story for every scar, but the only ones he tells are lies.


End file.
